


The Bad Element

by warqueenfuriosa



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Cute, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Married Life, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warqueenfuriosa/pseuds/warqueenfuriosa
Summary: Chris gets hurt in a gun fight and Mary chews him out for not being more careful. Even though it's not serious, she's still concerned and she has every right to be. But he can't help poking her a little, bringing up old history to make her smile and ease her worries. He remembers a certain newspaper article all too well...





	The Bad Element

**Author's Note:**

> During a M7 rewatch with @thenervetoservetheturn, we were discussing whether Chris ever let Mary live down the infamous article she wrote about him. We decided that no, he definitely wouldn't. He'd give her all sorts of grief for it. Not all the time but definitely when it would pack the most punch. And thus, a fic was born.

“Well,” Nathan said. “You’re not dead. But you will be very soon.”

Chris sat up and adjusted the pillow against the small of his back. He pulled a fresh shirt off of the chair beside his bed, easing his left arm into the sleeve. The less visible his bandaged shoulder was, the better.

“I’ll handle it,” he replied.

Nathan raised his eyebrows with a look as if to say,  _it’s your funeral._  He pointed to the sling he’d left on the beside table.

“Put that on before I leave,” he said.

“No.”

“Chris.”

“I don’t need it.”

Nathan sighed and gave up. He knew he wouldn’t get anywhere on that subject so he let it drop. He turned to the door as he stowed the last of his medical instruments in his bag.

“You can come in now,” he called.

The door opened to reveal a grim-faced Mary. She crossed her arms, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. And she didn’t say a word. But the icy stare she directed at Chris spoke volumes about how obviously unhappy she was with his current condition.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just a scratch.”

Mary stared at him without response. At least not yet. Her gaze slid over to Nathan as he rose from his chair and came toward her.

“No serious damage done,” Nathan said, placing his hand on her arm in reassurance. “Grazed his shoulder. Didn’t even have to take a bullet out. He’ll be sore for a while. And crankier than normal.”

“I heard that,” Chris said.

“Good,” Nathan replied with a smile. “You were supposed to.”

Mary pointedly turned so her shoulder was facing Chris. It wasn’t quite turning her back on him but it was close enough to send the message that she would deal with him later. He sighed and tipped his head back against the headboard.

“Thank you, Nathan,” Mary said softly.

Nathan moved to the door then paused and leaned forward, whispering something in Mary’s ear. She nodded and Nathan stepped out of the room.

Mary closed the door after him. She remained standing there, head bowed, silent, her hand resting against the wood of the doorframe.

“We’ve talked about this,” she said, her voice tight and low.

“I had it under control,” Chris replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Mary’s head came up. Chris knew in that instant it had been the wrong thing to say. Slowly, she turned around to face him, jaw clenched, arms straight at her sides.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” she whispered.

Chris grimaced. He was supposed to be smoothing things over, not causing more agitation. He held his hand out, palm up.

“I know,” he said. “That was—I shouldn’t have said that.”

Mary didn’t budge and crossed her arms.

“Come here,” Chris said. Then added quickly, “Please.”

“Don’t think you can sweet talk your way out of this,” she said.

“I wasn’t—“

“I saw you out there today, Chris. I watched you striding down that street like you were invincible, like all those bullets flying around would never touch you. Like you didn’t care about—“

She broke off and turned her head away. Chris swore under his breath.

“Mary,” he said softly in apology. For the gun fight. For getting hurt. For making her worry like this which was the last thing he wanted. “It’s just a graze. I’m okay.”

Mary cut him off with a sharp gesture. “That’s not the point. You’re supposed to take cover, Chris. Not waltz through the middle of a gun fight. And then you dare to tell me that I have nothing to worry about? I’ve already buried one husband. I can’t bury another.”

Silence descended over the room. Mary ducked her chin, her gaze dropped to the floor, withdrawing into herself to nurse the wounds her fears and worries had carved into her heart.

Chris moved to the edge of the bed, one elbow propped on his knee. He reached out and curled his fingers around Mary’s wrist lightly, giving her a chance to pull away if she was truly angry with him. But she didn’t retreat or shy from his touch.

Carefully, Chris drew Mary closer until she was standing between his knees. He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“You won’t bury me,” he said.

“I will if you aren’t more careful.”

“It’s part of my job, Mary.”

Mary flinched, recoiling at such an impersonal, practical response when her heart was still on fire. “It’s Vin’s job, too. And Ezra’s. And Buck’s. They take far more precautions than you do. Sometimes I think you find it fun to look death in the face and laugh about it.”

“I don’t laugh,” Chris said, keeping his voice neutral. “And I don’t think it’s fun.”

Mary dropped her gaze to their linked hands, but she fired off no comeback.

Chris angled his head up to place a feather-light kiss at the curve of Mary’s neck. She hitched her shoulder up to deny him access.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still mad at you.”

“Well, do you know how long it’ll be until you’re not mad at me anymore?” Chris said, allowing a faint lilt of hope to creep into his voice.

Mary frowned.

She’d always been an intimidating woman, poised and refined, maintaining her straight-backed composure and her razor sharp wits. But when she frowned, she was truly terrifying. Chris knew he was in for a fiery retort that would no doubt leave a wicked mark.

Mary pulled her wrist out of Chris’s grip.

“I don’t appreciate being mocked,” she said. “I have every right to be concerned—“

“I wasn’t thinking, Mary,” Chris cut in. He had to raise his voice to be heard and it made Mary suck in a small breath of surprise at how loud he was.

Chris’ hand burned to reach out again, to feel Mary’s skin against his, to feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. But she was hurt where no bandage could staunch the bleeding, no salve could soothe the pain. He couldn’t rush her, couldn’t crowd or pressure her.

Instead, he kept his hand flat atop his knee. But he held her gaze, unblinking and steady to show he meant what he said.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I knew you and Billy were at the Clarion and I couldn’t let that gunman get to you. That’s…” He stopped and rubbed at his forehead. “That was the only thing going through my mind. I didn’t care about getting to cover because it was a waste of time. It would leave the street wide open. The gunman could have just…”

He flung his hand out in a straight line to indicate the gunman’s potential path in her direction.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The weight of those words and the fear they carried with them lingered in the air, hot and stifling.

Chris’ hand fell back to the top of his knee. His gaze tracked up slowly to Mary’s face, searching for her reaction. But Mary kept her eyes downcast, her expression studiously closed off from his scrutiny. He had provided the truth, given her the honest answer she sought. It wasn’t the adrenaline rush or the itch of a fight that had him taking life-threatening risks. At least not anymore.

Mary placed two fingers at the edge of Chris’ belt, her thumb tracing a polished silver stud. Her fingers crept higher, over his hip, his stomach, his ribs. When she reached his heart, she pressed her palm flat to his chest.

Chris knew what she was doing. He placed his hand over hers, his thumb skimming along her knuckles. Mary never believed him when he said he was fine and Chris couldn’t blame her for that. He’d cheapened those words over the years, using them too often and too flippantly, until they meant nothing.

It was only when Mary felt the steadiness of Chris’ heartbeat beneath her palm that she could finally breathe easy, convincing herself he was fine after all.

Her fingers crept a little higher, plucking at the top button of his collar. She still wasn’t looking him in the eye. But Chris let his hand fall to his side, his face tilted up to her, watching every shift of emotion she tried so carefully to keep under control. Sitting there in front of Mary, his hands on the bed beside him, his torso was exposed, the soft parts of him—heart, lungs, gut—left vulnerable to her.

With sharp focus, Mary unbuttoned Chris’ shirt slowly until she peeled the fabric aside to get a look at his shoulder.

“I don’t like it when you hide things from me,” she said softly, barely more than a whisper.

She trailed her fingers over the bandage before moving to the curve of his neck and shoulder, gliding her palm up to his cheek. Without taking his gaze away from her, Chris turned his head and kissed Mary’s palm.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” he said.

That finally got Mary to look at him. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, as if to say,  _I don’t believe you._

“Then what were you doing?” Mary said. A challenge threaded underneath her words like a knife, ready to cut if Chris dared to lie to her face.

Slowly, Chris lifted one hand from the bed to pluck at her skirt. She didn’t push his hand aside or move away. He took that to be a good sign and rested his hand on her hip.

“I was making myself presentable,” he said.

Mary raised an eyebrow. “Why? You were expecting company?”

The corner of Chris’ mouth twitched upward in a smile. She was eager for a fight today and under normal circumstances, he would oblige her. But not this time. Mary was already hurting enough and he wanted to make that go away.

“Besides you?” he said. “No. But I do have a certain image to maintain.”

Chris could feel the change that came over Mary. Her fingers went stiff against his cheek and the frigidness that rolled off of her in waves made the desert heat scurry out of the room.

“What?” Mary said in a flat voice. Her body language screamed _, that’s what you’re concerned about?_

She began to pull back but Chris caught her hand, his smile growing.

“The image of a man who turned this quiet town into a shooting gallery,” he said.

For a split second, Mary froze, her lips parted slightly in shock. The iciness melted as her shoulders drooped and she rolled her eyes.

“You’ll never let me live down that terrible article, will you?” she said.

Chris laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He hummed as he kissed her shoulder.

“Nope,” he said. “That wouldn’t be fair since you spent so much time researching my…what did you call it?” He paused for dramatic effect, knowing full well every word she said to him on the first day they met. “That’s right. My less than stellar reputation.”

A livid pink blush blossomed on Mary’s face and she pressed her hands to her cheeks.

“Oh, stop,” she pleaded. “I can’t believe I actually  _said_ that.”

“Well,” Chris said in a wry tone. “You  _were_ just trying to scare the bad element away from town.”

Mary groaned and buried her face in his neck, looping an arm around his good shoulder. Chris chuckled as he shifted further back on the bed until he could lean against the headboard. He draped Mary’s legs over his lap, his thumb sneaking under her skirts to brush along her ankle.

“The bad element is not doing anything strenuous for the rest of the day,” she grumbled.

Chris breathed a soft laugh against her hair and curved his palm over her ankle, gliding up her calf.

 _“The streets ran red with the blood of twenty men…”_  He recited.

Mary made a strangled noise and squirmed away from him. Chris caught her before she reached the edge of the bed, his hands on her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He curved his body around hers and hooked his chin over her shoulder, nosing at her earlobe.

Mary’s breath hitched as she struggled to keep from laughing. She wiggled in his hold but she wasn’t trying to escape this time—she was pushing herself deeper into his arms, encouraging Chris to envelop her even further.

“I’m still mad at you by the way,” she said. “So don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

Chris smiled as he kissed the hollow beneath her ear, trailing his breath down along her neck just the way she liked until she shivered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

His fingers drifted up the buttons on her dress until he reached the collar. He popped the first two buttons open and tugged her collar aside to reveal her shoulder. Mary made a small pleased sound as he brushed a ticklish kiss to her skin.

“I never told you something about that article,” she said. “Something I didn’t realize until…” She gestured vaguely. “Later.”

Chris gave a noise of acknowledgement as he slipped the third button free on her dress.

“I might have written it to…irritate you a bit,” she said.

Chris went still. Mary shifted to lay on her back and look up at him. Her eyes were wide and serious but there was a triumphant smirk teasing at her lips.

“You  _wanted_  to make me angry?” he said, incredulous.

“Well, no, of course not. But…” That smirk blossomed into a smile. “It did get you into my office.”

“You scheming little—”

Chris slid one arm under Mary and hauled her up onto the pillows in one smooth motion. She yipped in surprise, her hair fanning out around her like a pale halo, the pillows nearly swallowing her whole as Chris propped himself up on his good elbow and looked down at her.

It was hard to believe they were here, smiling at each other like this, when they’d made such a poor first impression—him, sullen and dark, her, precise and rigid.

Mary reached up and interlaced her fingers around the back of Chris’ neck. She pulled him down to her and kissed him hard, pressing his mouth open. She scraped her teeth over his bottom lip, leaving the stinging bite of her worry behind.

When Mary began to pull away, Chris cupped his hand to her cheek and kissed her back gently, soft and sweet, as if to say,  _I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere._

Mary’s fingers wandered away from his neck, threading up into Chris’ hair. She drew back just far enough to rest her forehead against his.

“Does this mean we’re even?” Chris said.

Mary hummed in thought. “Getting there. Might have to keep working at it though."

Chris swept a lock of hair away from the corner of her mouth, brushing his knuckles across her cheekbone.

“Are you sure?” he said lightly.

“ _Chris_ ,” Mary said in warning. “Don’t you dare mention that damn article again.”

“A nice woman like you shouldn’t be associating with a  _notorious gunslinger_ —”

Mary snatched a pillow and smacked Chris in the chest with it. She aimed for his head and he ducked, rolling onto his side, one arm up to shield him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. He pointed at his bandaged shoulder. “Look. Injured.”

Mary snorted and rose up on her knees, pillow cocked back, ready to swing.

“I thought you said you were fine.”

Chris opened his mouth to protest but his words died away on a laugh. Mary whacked him in the stomach but he could feel her softening the blow, not hitting nearly as hard as she could have. Before she could rear back for a third shot, Chris caught the pillow with one hand. She relinquished it without protest and hitched her knee over his hips instead, pinning him to the mattress.

Chris abandoned the pillow and curved his hand around the back of her thigh in a silent question.

_Are we good?_

Mary raised an eyebrow in a clear response.

_I haven’t decided yet._

She reached over to the bedside table and picked up the sling Nathan had left behind. She smoothed the fabric between her hands and flicked her gaze up to Chris’ face. He knew what was coming. And he also knew he’d already lost the battle.

“Will you wear this now?” she said. “For me?”

“Did Nathan put you up to it?”

“Maybe.”

Chris waited.

“Yes,” Mary admitted.

He grunted but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Two against one,” he said. “I’ve faced worse odds before.”

“You’re in my town now, Mr. Larabee,” she said, lowering her voice in a parody of roughness.

Chris inhaled a breath, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He always got a kick out of it when she pretended to put on the tough-guy swagger.

 _You do it all the time,_  she would object.

_That’s different. When you do it, you’re just…_

_Just what?_

_Cute as hell._

It usually earned him a bruise or two but it was worth it.

“And it seems to me,” Mary continued. “You’re the one at a disadvantage with that bad shoulder of yours. If you get yourself into this fight, it won’t end well for you.”

She tapped one finger against his bandage. Chris pressed his lips tight in an attempt to hide a smile at Mary’s playfully serious tone.

"Sounds like a threat," he replied simply.

"Because it is."

It wasn't. Chris had seen Mary deliver a proper threat before. It was always a clean, neat shot, straight to the heart. This was...too sweet. It held no intent or determination behind it.

He went along with it anyway. Mary wasn't as stiff as she had been when she first stepped into the room. But judging by the way she kept touching his bandaged shoulder, her conviction over his well-being was still a little on the shaky side. She'd have a hard time sleeping tonight. She always did when he took a bullet. At least she wasn't spooled tight anymore, thinking about burials and widowhood.

“Guess you’re right,” Chris said. “Doesn’t look good for me, does it?”

Mary shook her head. She poked her tongue in her cheek to maintain a straight face.

Chris sighed loudly in defeat. “Well then. Better do what I can to save my hide.”

A small smile of victory touched Mary’s lips as she tied the sling around the back of his neck. She took Chris’ hand and guided his arm through the loop of fabric as carefully as she could. But once his arm was settled neatly in the sling, she didn’t release his hand.

Chris brought his good arm up, his palm lying flat against her back, coaxing her towards him. Mary tucked herself into the crook of his arm, one knee hooked over his legs, her ankle twined around his calf. She rested her head on his chest beneath his chin, her hand settling over his heart.

“Apology accepted,” Mary whispered.


End file.
